


calendula

by alcyonenight



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcyonenight/pseuds/alcyonenight
Summary: In another world, magic still exists, and there are still those who would exploit children who can use it. Madoka is bright, radiant, beautiful, and Homura watches as that light fades slowly to nothing.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Kaname Madoka, Kamijou Kyousuke/Miki Sayaka, Sakura Kyouko/Tomoe Mami
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	calendula

**Author's Note:**

> This does not have a happy ending.

When Homura met Madoka, it was almost summer: warm without quite being hot, the sun a gentle weight on her shoulders. The doctors had just given everyone their weekly infusion of elixir, and so the six young teenagers that had been ushered to the courtyard all had bandages in the crooks of their elbows. They were all girls, and Homura immediately guessed what was happening: they were pairing mages-to-be with their familiars.

“Kaname Madoka,” their trainer said. “Your familiar will be Akemi Homura. Both of you, step forward.”

Madoka had a round, friendly face framed by her pink hair, which hung flat to her shoulders. Her eyes were pink, but there was a subtle golden glow to them if you knew how to look, and of course Homura did. The sun shimmered over her. She looked radiant.

Madoka bowed deeply to Homura, with a respect Homura would never dare to assume she deserved. “I’m in your care.”

“I’ll take good care of you,” Homura promised.

Later, Homura would remember that morning only in generalities: sitting on a bench in the courtyard. The way the background all fell to a pleasant haze. Madoka’s hand in hers, and laughter like bells. And warmth, above all; warmth that coaxed its way into her heart.

Later, Homura was sure of it: that was the morning that she fell in love.

* * *

The participants of the Mage Program were all young teenagers, both boys and girls, although the girls outnumbered the boys three to one. Thirteen to fifteen were said to be the average strongest years for magic in one’s lifetime, so participants were recruited at thirteen, trained for a year, and then worked as mages or familiars from fourteen to fifteen. After aging out of service, a few were then able to work as trainers or in research for the Program after that, while everyone else was eligible for a substantial severance package.

The brochures made it sound beautiful and romantic: the mage, courageous and determined, purged the Corruption when it leaked into the world; their familiar, steadfast and true, supported the mage in all things and served as an additional wellspring of magic in times of need. And the pay was substantial enough to feed an entire family for the entire “period of service,” which even counted training.

Homura had sensed something was wrong with it as soon as she realized the commonalities between the trainees: they were almost all poor, or orphans, or both. There were a scattered few who came from money and truly believed in what the Program was doing, but most of them were like her. But she didn’t have anything else to do with her life. She could earn money to put aside for when she got older and the state withdrew support, and she was all-but-promised a dear friend. 

So Homura remained in the Mage Program. She remained even though her heart condition precluded her from being a mage herself. Being a familiar paid the same, even though she would really just be a glorified live-in servant. She lived in the dormitories, which saved her the money she would have spent on rent and food, and every day she went to her regular school, came back, and learned. 

There was an exercise program, personally tailored to her, to help her build strength and stamina. There were classes, too, and Homura learned about cooking and nutrition, housekeeping, and magical theory. There was even a cram school affiliated with the Program, and on weekends, they sent all the familiars there, so that they could get ahead in their studies and assist their mages with their homework, once their assignment started.

Homura knew she was being prepared for a difficult life, but she didn’t know to be afraid.

* * *

They moved paired mages and familiars to live together in the same dorm room, so for the first time since the hospital, Homura had a roommate.

“I’ve never really shared a room with anyone else before,” Madoka admitted. “My little brother was little, and, well, a boy, so my parents didn’t make us. We shared at the foster home for a few weeks but then I came here.”

It was a touchy subject for nearly everyone in the Program, but Homura asked anyway: “What happened to your parents?”

“They died,” Madoka said. “A car accident. They had just dropped my brother off at daycare, and I was at school.”

“I’m sorry,” Homura replied. “I never knew my parents.” She and her broken heart valve had been left abandoned at a fire station when she was an infant, or so she had been told. She was a baby, so she didn’t remember, but she used to daydream about it: maybe it was her mother who brought her there, in a little basket, wrapped up in that blanket that she loved when she was little. Maybe it was raining, and her mother ran to put her under the shelter of the fire station’s awning before they both were soaked through. “I’ve never really shared a room with anyone else before either,” she said, returning to the original topic.

“I guess we’ll both learn,” Madoka said. She smiled. 

That night, Homura barely slept. She curled up on her side and listened to Madoka’s soft breathing. It filled her heart with a longing she didn’t know how to name.

* * *

As part of their training, Madoka and Homura were assigned to shadow a working mage-familiar pair for an evening. They were even given veils to wear over their faces, just as the real working pairs had, to protect their identities and as a mark of their job--but Homura and Madoka wore the trainees’ gray instead of the bright white.

“New kids,” said one of the girls they were following, her hair bright red and unevenly cut. “I’m Kyouko. Mage. Stay out of my way.”

The other girl ducked her head. Her hair was in such distinctive spiral curls that Homura wondered if the veil was even meaningful in her case. “My name is Tomoe Mami. Forgive Kyouko, she likes playing a little rough.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Madoka and Homura chorused, and fell in step behind them.

Corruption gathered in places full of human grief, so certain locations were cleansed daily as a matter of course. The group went to one of those; a small graveyard. At first glance it seemed all right, but a closer inspection showed the truth: blacker-than-black names carved into the graves, a rotten scent to some of the incense, a cruel twist to the expression of a jizo statue.

Kyouko took a deep breath, and pressed her palms together as if about to pray. Instead of speaking, however, she floated up until she was a meter from the ground. Homura could barely see her face, through the veil, but she thought Kyouko closed her eyes.

And then, suddenly, there was light.

It filled Homura’s vision immediately, and by instinct she closed her eyes. But it was a light that was more than what could be seen. It filled her entire mind, somehow, with its brilliant glare.

She could still hear, though, and as she reopened her eyes, squinting, she heard Mami’s voice whispering in her ear.

“You can still break the contract with minimal penalties,” Mami murmured. “You can still get out. It’s not too late.”

The light faded. Homura didn’t know what to say.

Mami jogged away from Homura’s side, standing under Kyouko, who with no grace at all fell from the air into her familiar’s arms. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kyouko said, as Mami set her down on the grass. Homura noticed that Kyouko’s hands were blistered.

She looked at Madoka, then. 

Madoka was kneeling in the grass, hands clasped as if she, too, was about to pray. Her eyes glowed bright gold through the mesh of the veil. Her hair fluttered in a breeze Homura didn’t feel.

Then that moment, too, was over, and Madoka rose to her feet like nothing had happened.


End file.
